RE: Quick Dirty Bastards: I Have a Blog
02-17-2014, 10:53 PM
(This post was last modified: 02-17-2014, 10:54 PM by Sai.)
A good day to all of my admirers.
Today, something very interesting happened! It all started out while I was writing a letter to Horizon's publishing offices to address the horrific grammar errors found in their most recent Poet's Digest. I was interrupted by one 'Dr Angstrom' (a doctor who, as my followers will know, I had met playing a storytelling game with Peter Marshall) called me and informed me that the world may be ending. I put my tirade on hold for the moment and met him at the parlor of the hotel in which he was staying. It was a miserable little place, all but falling apart outright. Then again, I suppose that one attends these world-ending-news meetings to hear the world-ending-news rather than discuss decor.
Regardless, there was quite the party gathered there. Most of the new friends I'd met at the recent bank heist (see Blog Post #431) and the storytelling game were there, along with a handful of anarchists that I hadn't met before. Angstrom then proceeded to tell us his theory about the Seattle leyline. Its destruction has created a hole to nowhere, which may lead the world's magic to start draining out, which will of course lead to the loss of all life on the planet. Apparently the cloud hanging over Seattle is serving as a disgusting, unreliable plug (which is lucky, since it means that we aren't all going to die right away). A fellow named Pete November, who I haven't actually met but know by reputation as a new major employer for the Yakuza, is apparently trying to make a bridge between Tokyo and Seattle, which may or may not be helpful or harmful in preventing the end of the world. While the others discussed whether or not they should maybe try to stop him, a grenade came in through the window. As it turned out, Pete November was right outside with a small army, including some mechs and a handful of what I was later informed were dragons. After talking through a megaphone about things I really didn't care about, the bastard had me shot. Me, shot! Can you imagine? It was entirely inelegant and sublimely painful. While other less important things happened, I wrote the following in commemoration of the event -
It was amidst the moldy, rotting air
With gun made bursts of noise and light
That I first felt my very body tear
And knew the sharp sting of a traitor's bite
The haze of pain o'er my eyes did fall
Sudden from the sky like a weeping cloud
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all
And hides the green hill in an April shroud
As blood seeped out, I saw the blow
It had cut me like the steel thorn
That laid the Eternal Hunter low
A foul strike, in treachery born
Through the fog of pain, I swore to remember
To bring my vengeance against Pete November
After that composition and helping levitate Angstrom from a hole he had tactically created in the ground by falling through the floor of the hotel, I made the intelligent decision to leave and help kill some of the yakuza bent towards this traitor's cause. The alternative option was, of course, dying in a firefight. Then I got into a very nice car (I believe it was called a Comet - anyways, it was very nice). While I was doing so, Peter arrived, having woken up from his morphine-coma, and he, Harvestine, some digital sprite thingies, and Angstrom (who all apparently seem less keen on avoiding dying in firefights) managed to fend off the laser-firing dragons and mechs for a little while. They were rescued by the sudden arrival of a bulletproof car named Ben, who some of the others in the group apparently knew.
We all met up at Peter and Lydia's apartment. Apparently I shouldn't have shared the address of this apartment in my last blog post, since the group now contains a number of fugitives. Kaz's sister came to the apartment to provide medical attention, and we all tallied our injuries. For some reason, priority was given to those that are now missing limbs. I regret to say that I didn't receive all of the medical attention that I could have gotten, and regret even more deeply the fact that I was unable to mindlink with our possibly dying companion, Miranda. Melinda? Melanie? Whatever. Her name isn't important anymore since she doesn't get one of my beautiful eulogies. You can all blame Kaz for this travesty.
Next we set about talking with Ben the Car. Lydia led off the torture by dumping him and placing him in a vulnerable state for Harvestine and I to take advantage of. Sadly, no torture was necessary for him to disclose that Pete November is a workaholic and can virtually always be found in the Saeder-Krupp building. We began plotting his murder. I have held off on publishing this post for this very reason; by the time that you are reading this, his murder will have been completed.
Writing without publishing is hard, and I dearly hope to never have to suffer from the inability to share my work again.
N Keats
Today, something very interesting happened! It all started out while I was writing a letter to Horizon's publishing offices to address the horrific grammar errors found in their most recent Poet's Digest. I was interrupted by one 'Dr Angstrom' (a doctor who, as my followers will know, I had met playing a storytelling game with Peter Marshall) called me and informed me that the world may be ending. I put my tirade on hold for the moment and met him at the parlor of the hotel in which he was staying. It was a miserable little place, all but falling apart outright. Then again, I suppose that one attends these world-ending-news meetings to hear the world-ending-news rather than discuss decor.
Regardless, there was quite the party gathered there. Most of the new friends I'd met at the recent bank heist (see Blog Post #431) and the storytelling game were there, along with a handful of anarchists that I hadn't met before. Angstrom then proceeded to tell us his theory about the Seattle leyline. Its destruction has created a hole to nowhere, which may lead the world's magic to start draining out, which will of course lead to the loss of all life on the planet. Apparently the cloud hanging over Seattle is serving as a disgusting, unreliable plug (which is lucky, since it means that we aren't all going to die right away). A fellow named Pete November, who I haven't actually met but know by reputation as a new major employer for the Yakuza, is apparently trying to make a bridge between Tokyo and Seattle, which may or may not be helpful or harmful in preventing the end of the world. While the others discussed whether or not they should maybe try to stop him, a grenade came in through the window. As it turned out, Pete November was right outside with a small army, including some mechs and a handful of what I was later informed were dragons. After talking through a megaphone about things I really didn't care about, the bastard had me shot. Me, shot! Can you imagine? It was entirely inelegant and sublimely painful. While other less important things happened, I wrote the following in commemoration of the event -
It was amidst the moldy, rotting air
With gun made bursts of noise and light
That I first felt my very body tear
And knew the sharp sting of a traitor's bite
The haze of pain o'er my eyes did fall
Sudden from the sky like a weeping cloud
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all
And hides the green hill in an April shroud
As blood seeped out, I saw the blow
It had cut me like the steel thorn
That laid the Eternal Hunter low
A foul strike, in treachery born
Through the fog of pain, I swore to remember
To bring my vengeance against Pete November
After that composition and helping levitate Angstrom from a hole he had tactically created in the ground by falling through the floor of the hotel, I made the intelligent decision to leave and help kill some of the yakuza bent towards this traitor's cause. The alternative option was, of course, dying in a firefight. Then I got into a very nice car (I believe it was called a Comet - anyways, it was very nice). While I was doing so, Peter arrived, having woken up from his morphine-coma, and he, Harvestine, some digital sprite thingies, and Angstrom (who all apparently seem less keen on avoiding dying in firefights) managed to fend off the laser-firing dragons and mechs for a little while. They were rescued by the sudden arrival of a bulletproof car named Ben, who some of the others in the group apparently knew.
We all met up at Peter and Lydia's apartment. Apparently I shouldn't have shared the address of this apartment in my last blog post, since the group now contains a number of fugitives. Kaz's sister came to the apartment to provide medical attention, and we all tallied our injuries. For some reason, priority was given to those that are now missing limbs. I regret to say that I didn't receive all of the medical attention that I could have gotten, and regret even more deeply the fact that I was unable to mindlink with our possibly dying companion, Miranda. Melinda? Melanie? Whatever. Her name isn't important anymore since she doesn't get one of my beautiful eulogies. You can all blame Kaz for this travesty.
Next we set about talking with Ben the Car. Lydia led off the torture by dumping him and placing him in a vulnerable state for Harvestine and I to take advantage of. Sadly, no torture was necessary for him to disclose that Pete November is a workaholic and can virtually always be found in the Saeder-Krupp building. We began plotting his murder. I have held off on publishing this post for this very reason; by the time that you are reading this, his murder will have been completed.
Writing without publishing is hard, and I dearly hope to never have to suffer from the inability to share my work again.
N Keats